


the best and worst of times

by Tiara_of_Sapphires



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (not actually tho), Ambiguous Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kid Fic, Tea Parties, Unrequited Love, Vaginal Fingering, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28232334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiara_of_Sapphires/pseuds/Tiara_of_Sapphires
Summary: Prompt Fills of Seteth's Birthday Bash 2020Day 1: FatigueDay 2: DutyDay 3: Guardian/Song (did both!)Day 4: Passion (NSFW)Day 5: FamilyDay 6: FishingDay 7: Happy Birthday Seteth!Extra Day 8: A late birthday gift (NSFW)
Relationships: Flayn & Seteth (Fire Emblem), My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 18
Kudos: 86
Collections: Seteth Birthday Bash 2020





	1. My Bones Seem Made of Lead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1! Prompt is Fatigue
> 
> Chapter summary: Seteth returns from battle and Byleth helps him unwind a little.
> 
> Enjoy!

The battle was over, the last of a string of skirmishes that seemed to plague the area around Garreg Mach since the war's beginning. Seteth’s body made sure that he did not forget that fact, as the adrenaline faded to nothing and exhaustion took its place as he led his battalion back up to the monastery.

His lance grazed the ground with every step before he placed it in the weapon rack, leaving it to be cleaned and sharpened by blacksmiths who had more skill at the art of weapon care than he. He had kept the Spear of Assal at the monastery, thinking it wasn’t worth bring to the battle, lest he fall in battle and it then fall into the wrong hands.

He regretted it now, rebuking himself for not using the tools at hand to their full advantage. The bodies still fell and the outpost of Imperial soldiers was burned to the ground, which was what mattered.

Goddess, he was exhausted. He wasn’t injured, his armor rebuffing any attacks that would have pierced skin otherwise. He would be sore, for sure. The amount of time spent on his wyvern, maneuvering through the skies, meant that he was going to be in pain for a couple of days.

Seteth allowed a slight smile as he saw a figure move through the mill of soldiers to reach him.

Byleth had stayed out of this fight, still nursing an injury from the prior week. Concern and relief were plain on her face as she approached.

“I’m glad to see you are uninjured,” she said as she stopped before him.

“You think me incapable of getting through a battle unharmed?”

He meant for the words to have very little bite, but the plain exhaustion in his voice made the attempt at a lighthearted comment fall flat on its face.

Byleth’s lips pressed into a line and she reached up to clasp his elbow.

“You’re tired, my love.”

Seteth sagged a little at the attention, suddenly uncaring if anyone saw. Let them look, let them stare. He didn’t have the energy to hide this tiny, weak part of himself. Flayn had lectured him for being so harsh and that it would do good to show some humanity around those under his command, so it was likely of benefit anyway.

“I must confess that I am," he sighed.

He didn't need to list out the ways. Long nights of strategy meetings and worrying and training wore him down, as he was sure it wore down on everyone else. Adding the battle on top of it felt crushing.

“Come on," Byleth said, nudging him. "I’ll take you to your quarters. We need to get this stuff off of you.”

He didn’t have much choice, but he was glad that she could take control for a moment.

Seteth visibly deflated as soon as they were in the safety of his quarters. There were no members of his battalion, or members of the Knights or the clergy to ogle at his moment of weakness, no matter how endearing it would be.

With careful hands, Byleth removed his breastplate, pauldrons and vambraces. Her fingertips drew faint patterns over his skin as she removed the greaves, revealing his achy hands. Seteth pried off the rest, content in leaving his armor in a pile on the ground until he had the energy to clean it up.

“You should sleep,” Byleth said.

He looked down at himself and exhaled loudly through his nose.

“I’m covered in sweat,” he said, unable to keep the whine out of his voice. “I’ll get the sheets dirty. That will leave yet another thing to do.”

He wasn’t sure why he was being suddenly contrarian about going to sleep, when that was something that he wanted the most. Maybe it was because it was implied that she would leave once he went to bed. She had better things to do than to watch him sleep.

Byleth sighed. “Very well.”

For a moment, he was afraid she was going to leave him to his exhaustion. Instead, she dragged him by the arm to the sauna.

The monastery halls were quiet. The clergy were attending evening prayer, the former students in the dining hall. Distantly he realized that he was being led through the monastery in a loose shirt and pair of pants, completely unlike the robes that he was used to being seen in.

If anyone saw them, they didn’t comment aloud for them to hear.

* * *

The sauna itself was blissfully empty.

As if sensing his question, Byleth leaned over and whispered, “I made sure we would have some privacy.”

He didn't question how she would have been able to manage such a feat and instead busied himself in removing his shirt and shoes, leaving only his pants.

Byleth immediately went to work on him. His eyes fluttered closed as she cleaned his hair. She had picked a flowery soap, something Flayn was definitely going to tease him about the next time they saw each other. She washed his torso with more of that soap and a washcloth. If he wasn’t so tired and sore, he likely would have been aroused by this. Instead, he just kept his eyes closed and sank into the comfort of gentle touches.

She took special attention on his hands, using some sort of salve with a strong smell to chase away the pain that clung to his joints.

He must have dozed off because before he knew it, Byleth was helping him get his shirt and shoes back on.

Byleth cupped his cheek and he leaned helpless into it. She smiled at him, and he knew that it was the kind of smile that was reserved only for him.

“You look like you’re about to fall over,” she murmured.

He shrugged noncommittally. Of course, he could force himself to wake up from the relaxing daze he floated in to walk back to his quarters. He didn't want to, though. He could content himself with leaning into Byleth's arms until this forsaken war came to an end.

She took him by the hand again, helping him to his feet.

“My quarters are closer.”

That was an understatement, her quarters barely a stone’s throw away from the sauna.

He was too tired to realize that it meant they would be sleeping very close to the rest of the students. Sure, they weren’t quite students anymore, but there was still that level of professionalism that needed to be maintained. He hadn’t been able to convince her to move to one of the now-empty faculty quarters away from the students’ dormitories to show her status as both professor and leader of the army.

When she set him down on her bed, all of his potential complaints disappeared.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, catching her sleeve in his hand. Even in his exhaustion and all that she had done for him, he couldn’t help but still be selfish.

His bleary eyes caught that soft smile on her face.

“Of course, my dear.”


	2. To Worship a Distant Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Duty
> 
> Seteth wrestles with his (surely) unrequited feelings during Byleth’s coronation.
> 
> Enjoy!

A month following the end of the war, Seteth found himself standing at attention in the cathedral, watching as Rhea lounged in the Archbishop’s chair at the altar. A rumble of chatter filled the cavernous room, but it wasn’t the faithful waiting for services to begin. Seteth almost wished that it was the case.

No, the powers of the world had come to heel in the name of a coronation.

During the course of the war, the pieces rose and fell, leaving Claude von Riegan as rightful ruler of Fódlan. In the end, he would not have it, his birthright in a land to the north of the continent. The other ruling houses had no living heirs fit to rule, and the optics of Rhea and the Church taking control were so poor that idea wasn’t even brought to the table.

It would only be left to Byleth to rule Fódlan, strung between worlds.

Seteth wondered if Byleth and Claude had spoken on such an arrangement as he stood at the altar, waiting for the future queen to arrive to be crowned. Claude seemed to be without regrets as he lounged in one of the cathedral pews, grinning at the Gloucester boy. Nobles from the now-dissolved Leicester Alliance and those loyal to the unified government from Faerghus and Adrestia, those who were still alive at least, were in attendance, their seating meticulously planned.

A hush descended through the hall as the guard at the door slammed the butt of his spear against the marble, three times.

The doors creaked open, grand music played on the organ, and Seteth’s breath caught in his chest. He tried not to read into the triumphant smile on Rhea’s drawn face.

Byleth had been thrust into this, into teaching, into the war, and now this. He felt immense pity for her, how she had been dragged to and from the continent to put out a thousand fires and losing nearly everything in the process. She was without family, her students cast to the wind with their own responsibilities.

Nobody would be able to tell the burdens she bore. She strode down the aisle, tall and proud, in a flowing gown and cape, all whites and golds and a royal purple. Her hair flowed down her back, no pendants or decorations to get in the way of the crown that would soon to be set on her head.

She was somber, allowing only the tiniest of smiles to her former students who watched enraptured in the pews.

She truly was beautiful. Her presence was like a tightening noose around his neck, threatening to choke him.

The ceremony passed like a blur for Seteth, his eyes only for Byleth as she knelt before Rhea, vowing to rule over Fódlan with a gentle and firm hand, to allow the Church of Seiros to stand mighty once more. Her voice, strong and clear as a bell, sent chills down his spine.

He was the one to place the crown, a delicate nest of silver and gold, on her head, intoning a blessing that hadn’t been spoken since King Lambert had been crowned.

Byleth looked up at him with a smile and he did his best not to stumble over his words.

He had fallen for her, and there was no conceivable way for him to shed the feelings that had been growing since Byleth had rescued Flayn all of those years ago. He allowed the blessing to become a covenant between them, shoving his feelings down deep.

“May the Goddess stand by your side, becoming your wisdom and your sword and your shield, today and all the days that shall come.”

Rhea would find her rest in Zanado, leaving him to be the advisor for Byleth as he was for her. He would cling to that privilege, resigning himself to the role of friend and advisor, knowing that a shining light like her wouldn't shackle herself to a old liar like him.

He stepped back and Byleth rose to face the audience, who burst into cheers. He shut his eyes for just a moment.

_I will stand by your side, I will be your wisdom and your sword and your shield, today and all the days that shall come._


	3. Love, like soft rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Guardian/Song (did both!)
> 
> Seteth plays nurse when Byleth gets injured in battle
> 
> Also sorry this was late....but I will make it up with a two-fer for Christmas day...in theory!
> 
> Enjoy!

Byleth was injured. Again.

Seteth wasn’t there for the battle, only hearing about it when he inquired as to why she hadn’t met with him to report right after their forces had returned to the monastery.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary that she would return to the monastery with fresh cuts and bruises. The woman, cloaked in the Goddess’s blessing, seemed to make it her personal mission to throw herself in front of every dangerous situation possible, especially if it was in defense of her students.

All that, and it didn’t stop his stomach from dropping a little at the news that she wasn’t in good enough shape to meet with him immediately. He made his way to the infirmary in short order, finding Mercedes von Martritz stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her.

“What happened? I heard By—the Professor was injured,” he said, forcing a calm air while his bones called him to break down the door to see if she was okay.

There was no question or judgment in the healer’s eyes, but he couldn’t help but curse under his breath as she recited the professor’s injuries. She had taken a poisoned arrow to the shoulder and had been thrown from her horse, giving her a concussion.

“Is she awake?” Seteth asked, interrupting Mercedes mid-sentence.

She seemed unflapped by his rudeness. “No, she is sleeping, now. I have done all I can, now she needs to rest.”

There was an undertone of ‘leave her be’ in Mercedes’s voice that would have miffed him if he hadn’t owed her his life a dozen times over.

“I would like to sit with her, if it is all the same to you.”

Mercedes sighed softly but still she smiled at him. “If you don’t wake her up, by all means. She might be a bit feverish, but try not to worry too much.”

Ignoring the knowing light in her eyes, Seteth passed her to enter the room and close the door behind him.

True to her word, Byleth was indeed fast asleep, not even stirring at the sound of him entering the room.

As he approached, he could clearly see an unhealthy tinge to her skin, clearly aftereffects from the poison. While Mercedes had said that she was safe, it still turned his stomach.

The stark white of bandages peeked out from under her shirt and clung to her temple. There was also the sickly yellow of a healing bruise on her cheek.

“Of course,” he breathed. “You would manage to get yourself into trouble the moment you left my line of sight.”

It wasn’t a fair observation, since she would come back from battle unharmed more often than not, overly-proud when she provided gold or meat or supplies from the conquest, every battle bolstering their army's strength. And yet, he couldn’t swallow down the feeling of guilt that this was somehow his fault and that he should have gone with her.

Seteth pulled up a chair next to her right as Byleth shifted a little, making a tiny noise of discomfort. He froze, watching her face as it pinched in discomfort. Her skin looked pallid now, a sheen of sweat over her face.

“Feverish,” he said, frowning to himself.

The rational part of him told him to go find a healer to check on her and make sure that it was a normal part of the recovery process. The other part kept him in his seat as he found a bowl of water that had clearly been placed in the room for this exact reason.

He dunked the cloth into the water and pressed it to her forehead, avoiding soaking the bandages that were already there.

His healing and faith magic skills were admittedly subpar, good enough to at least keep him and Flayn alive while she was recovering in the years of isolation. He whispered what basic healing spells he knew, grateful that the bowl of water remained cold enough to make a difference on her heated skin.

When it was clear that his healing spell had only made the bruise on her cheek fade and little else, he stopped scrambling to remember the arcane spells that were good only for skinned knees and staving off imminent death to give time for a real healer to arrive.

Instead, he hummed as he worked, a song without name but a series of notes that sounded nice in his own ears. It wasn’t like his audience was awake to critique him.

Or, it wasn’t until the mindlessness of the song had him humming just a bit too loudly.

Seteth had turned to the bowl of water to soak up the rag for the umpteenth time when Byleth’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. It took a second of her staring blankly up at him before she finally croaked, “Seteth?”

Seteth almost dropped the cloth on her face in shock, but quickly composed himself. “Shh, sleep. You are recovering.”

Not following command as usual, she turned her face into his hand with a smile so unguarded that Seteth’s knees went weak.

“Feels good. Cool.”

He cleared his throat, forcing his hand to stop shaking. He needed to get a hold of himself. They hadn't even begun to even reconcile their professional relationship that slowly changed to a friendship as they fought side-by-side. “You’re feverish, from the poison. You should have received an elixir to eliminate it, but I don't know why—"

She waved at him dismissively, head lolling a little.

“That stuff takes time to work. 'Standin’ in the Goddess’s light, death won’t touch me,'” she drawled.

He almost laughed at the drowsy butchering of scripture. At least, she had been half-listening to the services that she had attended since coming to the monastery.

Byleth's head rolled back to bump against his hand, eyes fluttering shut. “Hm, my guardian. Guardian saint. That’s a thing, right? I think that should be a thing,” she mumbled.

Heat flooded his cheeks as his blood froze in his veins at the mere thought that she knew who he was. Even if came only from her delirium, he needed to be more careful.

Her breathing evened out and his heartrate slowly returned to normal. The nonsensical song resumed, now soft and hesitant.

In her feverish state, she likely wouldn’t remember their encounter or disregard it as a hallucination.

He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed in that.


	4. More Than Admiration (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Passion
> 
> Setleth mirror porn. 'nuff said.
> 
> Merry Christmas if you celebrate, Happy Friday if you don't! This is posted along with Day 5, so give that a read as well!
> 
> Enjoy!

Seteth found his wife seated at the vanity, brushing her hair. Her back was to him, but he could see the light dress that she wore that bore enough skin to be inappropriate anywhere but in their private rooms. It was spellbinding.

Byleth’s hands hesitated as he approached to stand behind her, not close enough to touch her. He could see her smile in the mirror as she resumed her motions.

“It’s not often that I see you like this,” he murmured.

Byleth Eisner, despite being in a position that required her to be in elaborate garb, didn’t linger at vanities or care all that much about her appearance outside of the required amount of hygiene.

She sighed, still running a brush through her green hair. “I made the mistake of walking around with my hair loose today and the wind caused so many knots. I’m surprised there aren’t a few leaves still hiding around here.”

She seemed to have tamed her hair for the most part, but Seteth wasn’t looking at that. No, he could only focus on the span of her collarbone and the column of her throat. She watched him in both a question and a challenge, waiting for him to make the next move.

Goddess, she was beautiful. If he could write poetry, he could fill books of poems of how beautiful she was. He knew he didn’t tell her as much as he thought it, but he had made clear, over and over, how much he loved her.

Finally, he stepped close enough to press his front against her back. She sighed, content.

“You should’ve joined me on my walk,” Byleth said. She seemed awfully distracted, talking for the sake of talking. “It would have been quite the sight to see.”

He hummed and leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. His reflection glanced back at him.

“The only sight I care about right now is the one in front of me.”

In lieu of laughing at his attempt at smooth-talk, she turned to kiss him, deep and passionate. It lacked the desperation that they had become used to during the war, something that had to be unlearned over the months since the war’s end, but it never lacked the fire that had existed since those turbulent times.

When they broke apart, she started to rise from her stool. He placed a hand on her shoulder, pressing just enough to give her pause.

“Wait,” he said.

She looked at him in askance, almost pouting. While the idea of taking this to the bed was tempting, the idea that had taken root was too tempting to ignore.

In apology, he leaned down and kissed her once more, licking into her mouth and drawing a moan from her. When he pulled away with an obscene sound, he gently pushed on her shoulder, keeping her seated.

“Stay seated. Keep facing the mirror,” he said.

She gasped quietly and a blush rushed to her cheeks. Slowly, she obeyed, turning to face the mirror.

Seteth leaned over her, pressing a kiss just under her ear.

“Let me take care of you.”

His arms reached down over her, caging her against his body. One hand skimmed down her abdomen before reaching under her dress skirt. The other cupped her breast and he rolled her nipple through the fabric.

He cupped her before running his finger over her slit. She sighed, pressing her head against his shoulder as he pushed her underwear aside to press a finger inside of her.

Seteth sucked a mark against her throat and immediately added a second finger, fucking her slowly. She was already so wet for him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

He cupped her breast with his other hand, rolling the nipple between his fingers. She immediately pulled down the neckline of her dress to give him more room.

“You’re—ah—not so bad yourself.”

The quip dissolved into a moan as he cupped her jaw and leaned over her shoulder to run his teeth down her throat. Her hips grinded into his hand as he left marks on every inch of skin he could reach.

“You’ll have to wear high collars for the next couple of days,” he breathed.

She shivered. He wondered what she saw in the mirror, if she was focused on him as he was focused on her. Or did she see her own pleasure, the blush of their passion?

Seteth curled his fingers inside of her, turning the languid pace he had set to something faster. Byleth writhed against him, the palm of his hand pressing against her clit how he knew she liked.

He was painfully hard and he had to resist the urge to grind against her back to find some kind of relief.

She leaned against him, her breathing getting more and more labored as he fucked her on his hand.

“Look at you,” he whispered.

His free hand didn’t stop moving. He tweaked at her nipples, cupped her throat, pressed fingers into the bruises that were just barely forming on her skin.

Byleth rocked her hips, pressing back against him with a cry. “Seteth—ah—!”

She tightened around him, shaking in his arms as came. He watched her expression in the mirror, her glassy eyes, blushing cheeks, slack mouth.

The sight of it, his one hand splayed over her collarbone, the other reached down her body to play with her cunt, was enough to bring him over the edge. His knees went weak as he thrust his hips into the air, coming in his pants with a groan.

Seteth pressed his face into her hair and tried to catch his breath.

“I hope that wasn’t too much,” he said.

Byleth sighed a laugh, still shivering as he removed his fingers.

“No, I think that was just right.”


	5. Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Family
> 
> Papa Seteth with his newborn
> 
> Merry Christmas if you celebrate, Happy Friday if you don't! This is posted along with Day 4, so give that a read as well!
> 
> Enjoy!

In his many years, he had forgotten what it was like to hold a newborn.

While Seteth had kept memories of Flayn’s infancy and childhood close to his heart, things had gotten faded over the centuries.

He was the picture of a nervous new parent as one of the healers handed him his crying newborn son for the first time.

The baby was asleep now after a feeding, but Seteth braced himself for a fresh wave of crying at a moment’s notice. Goddess, he wanted to cry himself at that point, just at the sheer amount of relief and joy he felt.

He marveled at the delicate shell of the newborn’s ear, the barest point at the tip of it. That, along with the green hair and eyes, made it clear that this child was Nabatean, the first born in thousands of years. Only a few people alive knew the importance of it, and few would ever know. Seiros had gone through great lengths to cover up the existence of their race, relegating them to dusty legends.

It would do no good to unravel such a thing, even as their ancient enemies rotted in their graves in the ruins of Shambhala, the remnants crushed underfoot at the gates of Derdriu.

Even then, the birth was more than that. They both knew that, no matter what, their child was more than the continuation of an endangered bloodline. This was their child.

“Aren’t you beautiful,” he cooed.

Byleth slept in the other room, exhausted by the birthing process. They had feared for her health, that she would follow the same fate as her mother before her. He had nightmares every night as her stomach got bigger and bigger and the due date got closer and closer. He had dreamt of Byleth’s body, cold and bloody, her breath stopped in her chest, their child unmoving and silent.

It never came to pass, even as the healers monitored her health in the hours before and after the birth, as well as that of the child. She was healthy and their son was healthy in turn. At that point, she was just exhausted at all of the attention she was getting.

The queen and her heir would only generate excitement for the monastery and all the continent.

Seteth glanced back down at the baby. He definitely had Byleth’s nose.

“My love?”

He jumped, cursing under his breath when the baby made a soft sound, almost waking again.

Seteth stepped into the bedroom, looking to his wife in askance. Byleth, propped up on pillows, looked regal where she sat, every bit the queen that she was. It made his heart clench in his chest how much he loved her.

She smiled sleepily at him, waving a hand.

“Why don’t you join me?” she asked.

Now, he wasn’t going to argue with that.

He crossed the room, their son in one arm as he adjusted the many blankets that covered her. Byleth had tried to shake off the attention he had lavished on her when she was full-term, scolding him for hen-picking. Now, she didn’t seem to have the heart to tell him to stop hen-picking.

“We do need to come up with a name for him,” Byleth murmured.

He pulled a rocking chair up next to the bed and sat down.

“You are right. We can only call him ‘little one’ for so long.”

They fell silent for a moment. While they had long conversations about names, weighing options on giving the child a Fódlanian name or a Nabatean name, they never quite settled on anything. He couldn’t think of a Nabatean name that wasn’t attached to sad memories, anyway. Any move they would make would be made a big deal, the name of Fódlan’s heir.

“I was thinking of naming him Jeralt, with your permission.”

Seteth watched as Byleth’s peaceful expression quiver and he immediately regretted opening his mouth.

“O—or not. We could think of something else. Just a suggestion.”

He had been toying with the idea since they knew it was a boy. Seteth didn’t know Jeralt well in life, only discovering a part in his journal, and part of him wondered how the mercenary would have reacted to news of their engagement. In the end, it didn’t really matter. Jeralt was long dead and wouldn’t know his grandson. It didn’t take an omniscient to know that the fact hurt Byleth in a way that Seteth couldn’t understand.

She shook her head after exhaling shakily. Tears tracked down her cheeks.

“No, no. It’s fine. I just—I would need to think about it.”

He nodded, before handing their son over to her.

“We have time to think about it. We have all the time in the world.”

Byleth pursed her lips as she glanced down at the now-feeding boy.

“At least, time until they start breaking down our door demanding a naming ceremony,” she grumbled.

He didn’t want to think about it. He was already bracing for the wave of visitors in the form of Byleth’s former students, surely all bearing gifts and well-wishes.

They were quiet for a while.

“He could be a Jeralt,” she finally murmured.

Her fingers stroked over the fine green hair that covered the baby’s head. The shade was closer to Byleth’s than to Seteth’s, just a bit darker. Then, she reached for Seteth.

He leaned forward, eyelids fluttering a little as her fingers brushed over his cheek, petal-soft. She curled her finger through his hair to reveal his pointed ear. She brushed over the shell and Seteth suppressed a shudder at how ticklish the sensation was.

“He really does have your ears,” Byleth said.

Seteth laughed at that, catching her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles, and Byleth smiled.

In his many years, he hadn’t forgotten what joy felt like.


	6. Let It Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Fishing
> 
> Cichol contemplates the state of the world while in hiding. A very short, gen family fic
> 
> Enjoy!

The fishing lure bobbed serenely in the water. Cichol tried to focus on it, not on his thoughts. That was what he told himself, every morning when he cast the line. Think of the lure, the necessity of the action to keep himself and his daughter fed. Every morning, he managed to fail, wallowing in the same nightmares and self-pity.

Perhaps, that was part of his punishment: never finding peace even in the most peaceful of activities. Cethleann was so frail and small in her bed. Every pained breath, every time he needed to change her bandages, was a testament of his failure.

The self-flagellation had come and gone in waves after the battle’s din had quieted and the fires were snuffed out. He would work the land until his hands bled and his back ache. Food would go to Cethleann, whatever she could manage to stomach. He would allow himself enough crumbs to keep himself from dying, not enough to chase away the yawning chasm of hungry in his belly.

Seiros had let them go, before the final battle. He would have been useless in his grief, anyway. Word had come in whispers caught as he hid by waysides, making sure nobody came near their hiding place. Seiros was victorious; Nemesis and his army had been crushed underfoot. A new era would begin from there.

Cichol wanted nothing to do with it.

He gritted his teeth. The memories of an open grave and bloodsoaked ground could not be wiped away so easily by a war's end.

Let Seiros have her grief. Let Macuil and Indech have their seclusion and their foaming anger and bitterness. Let the humans live their little, destructive lives.

The fishing line jerked and Cichol yanked a carp out of the pond. The thing flopped around on shore before he struck it against a stone, killing it.

They would eat for a day. He would come back again, the next day, and the next.

If no harm came to Cethleann, then the world could turn however it liked.


	7. Fumbling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Happy Birthday Seteth
> 
> Birthday teatime with Byleth
> 
> Enjoy! And please expect a special 8th chapter coming soon :P

Seteth awoke early on his birthday to Flayn offering an already-made breakfast in his quarters. He initially stifled a wince before relaxing when she told him that she had enlisted Dedue in helping her make the meal. He didn’t comment on the potential angle of their relationship, but filed the information for later.

Despite their long lifespans, Flayn always made a point to celebrate his birthday, even when they were in hiding. The birthdays had taken a melancholy turn with the onset of war and Rhea’s disappearance, making the hug Flayn gave him before leaving cause tears to spring in his eyes.

He started digging into the food as Flayn left.

“Oh! Someone had slipped a letter for you!” Flayn exclaimed.

She skipped over to the coffee table before making her exit.

He unfolded it to find familiar spiky handwriting.

_Meet me at my quarters at 11._

Seteth blushed, even though no one was around to see him. He really couldn’t be too excited about it or try to find a hidden meaning behind the invitation. Byleth had tea with her students and the Knights all the time. He wasn’t special, even if it was his birthday.

Besides, it only made sense that they would take tea inside. The weather made it ill-advised to have tea in the gardens. The flowers had all withered and wouldn’t bloom again for several months. The cold air would chill their drinks before they could have a chance to enjoy them.

Regardless, he self-consciously made sure that his hair and clothes were in place before make his way out to Byleth’s quarters.

To his chagrin, he passed the Gautier boy on his way, who arched a knowing brow when it was made clear that Seteth was heading to Byleth’s quarters. Seteth had half a mind to bypass his destination and visit the greenhouse first to dispel Sylvain’s correct assumption.

Even as he thought it, he knew it would make him late to their tea time and he was always timely for these sorts of things. He didn’t want Byleth to think him as rude for being late to tea time.

He knocked at the door and didn’t have time to think about fretting over how he didn’t even think to bring a contribution to the tea like he normally did. The door opened almost immediately, the room’s occupant leaning against the door frame.

“Good morning, Seteth. Happy birthday!” she said with a gentle smile.

He nodded with a smile of his own, stepping inside when she moved to give him room to pass.

“Thank you, Byleth. And, thank you for this kind invitation.”

She had set up a table and chairs against the wall. There was a pot of tea and a tray of sandwiches and a little bouquet of flowers.

Byleth gestured and said, “Please, have a seat.”

Seteth obeyed, sitting down and looking over the table placement. Everything seemed to be painstakingly set, akin to something seen in a palace, not in a mercenary’s room.

“I see you went through great lengths for me,” he said.

Byleth busied herself with pouring tea for the both of them, but he caught a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Of course. It’s your birthday, is it not?”

He didn’t press the subject. For all he knew, she had done the same for Prince Dimitri mere days earlier and for the rest of her students in the months prior.

From there, it was as if nothing was different. She had his favorite tea, they avoided talking too deeply about the war or about Rhea.

He gently steered conversation away from how his birthday coincided with Saint Cichol’s Day, though he took the heart how Byleth mentioned that she was going to attend the hymn recitation in the evening. Mostly, they talked about the monastery and the students. Even after several months, there were still things she had questions about.

When the teapot ran dry and the tea sandwiches were all eaten, Byleth shifted a little in her seat, suddenly seeming nervous.

“I’m not all that great with birthday gifts, but I thought you would like this.”

She pulled something small out of her pocket and held it out. He took it, but their fingers lingered on each other for a few seconds longer than necessary.

“It’s a fishing float,” she said. “It’s, well, it’s not really meant for actual use. It’s a decorative thing.”

He turned it over in hand, holding it to the light. The wood was meticulously carved with metal inlays and painted with a shiny lacquer. It almost looked like a piece of jewelry.

“Did you make this?” Seteth asked, already knowing the answer.

She shrugged, eyes on the crumbs on her plate. “My father showed me woodcarving when I was younger. I didn’t have much interest in it then, but nowadays I find it to be a stress reliever.”

“Do you make things for other people?” he asked. He didn’t know why he wanted to know the answer. Perhaps it was the faintest shadow of jealousy that wormed its way into his chest whenever he saw her students get too affectionate, too close to her.

“Not really,” Byleth replied. “I made a little horse for Marianne when she was having a bad day, but that is about it.”

He immediately felt bad for being even a bit jealous. That…reaction would be something to look into later. He instead cleared his throat. “Was it a nice horse?”

She shrugged again. “It made Marianne smile. I’d say my technique has improved since then.”

Seteth stared at the fishing float before tucking it into his coat pocket.

“Well, this gift makes me smile. Thank you.”

The relieved smile that painted her face was too endearing. She must have been mulling over what his reaction would be to the gift. The thought of him being on her mind in any manner outside of their strictly professional relationship was almost too much to bear.

Neither spoke, drawing the silence to a point where Seteth could only think to rise from his chair and make an exit before he said anything that they both would regret.

“Thank you for the tea. It is always a pleasure.”

Was that a flash of disappointment in Byleth’s face when she stood up from her chair? He turned towards the door and made to open it before he could ponder it.

“Ah—Seteth?”

He turned to see that Byleth was right behind him, eyes searching his face. He stiffened and his mouth flapped open and closed.

“Yes?” he started.

All of his thoughts seemed to evaporate as he stood in her inquisitive gaze. He wanted her to say something, _anything_. He wanted to run back to his office and pray that she would forget that tea time ever happened.

Instead, she stepped close enough that their bodies brushed together and raised herself on her toes. Seteth stayed still, stomach in knots and face aflame, as her hand stroked up the lapel of his coat to grip it lightly, pulling him down just enough for her to kiss him.

All Seteth could taste was the tea they just had, but her lips were warm and soft against his. His arms stayed by his sides, tamping down the urge to embrace her. It was impossible to push any further, not in the middle of the day, not so close to the students’ quarters.

When they broke away, Seteth felt almost like he had woken up from a dream, waiting for cold reality to set in.

Byleth stared up at him, cheeks red and green eyes overly bright. No, that kiss was definitely real.

“Happy birthday, Seteth.”

Throwing caution and propriety to the wind for just a moment, Seteth leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. He could smell the flowery soap in her hair and felt her gasp in surprise as much as hear it.

“Let’s—let’s do this again soon.”

Seteth almost kicked himself. What was that supposed to mean?

He left without another word, but he could see the mild confusion on Byleth’s face as he left. The door shut behind him and he leaned his back against it, willing his face to cool and his heart to stop racing before walking back towards the main building.

Goddess help him. Next time they had tea; they should have it in his quarters.


	8. Bonus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus smut chapter! Call it a late birthday present for Seteth.
> 
> Enjoy!

Seteth was talking, but Byleth couldn’t quite focus on the words coming out of his mouth.

His brow was tense and his shoulders were stiff with stress. As she leaned against his desk, she couldn’t help but be distracted by how his mouth moved, how striking his profile was. His hands tapped, agitated, on the stack of paper in front of him: the monastery’s budgetary notes that needed to be finalized by the both of them sooner rather than later.

Later sounded better to her, as he continued to talk and she continued to look and not listen.

Desire pulled at her stomach as she ducked down before she could think better of it. He had paused to take a breath, leaving her free to press a kiss to his lips. He tasted like mint and his favorite spiced tea, which should have clashed unpleasantly, but didn’t.

She pulled back just enough to see him stare at her, wide-eyed.

“What was that for?” he sputtered.

She shrugged. “Your mouth looked very kissable.”

Color immediately rose to his cheeks at that. She smoothed her finger over the space between his eyebrows, trying to chase the tense lines away. Her free hand reached to loop around his wrist where it rested in his lap, thumb stroking over his pulse point. 

“Perhaps, a break?” she proposed lightly.

Already, she could see him about to refuse. There was the pinch in the corner of his eyes, the tiniest frown that pulled at his mouth, already ready to disappoint her and himself in refusing.

She wouldn’t have it, cutting in before he could say anything. “You have been working on this for ages. Allow yourself to relax for a moment and then get back to it.”

Seteth nodded after a moment, shifting in his chair. Grinning a little in victory, Byleth swooped down to claim his mouth again, licking into his lips. She reached down to palm him where he was hard and wanting and relished the groan he pressed against her mouth.

“You’re going to kill me.”

She dropped to her knees, watching him bite his lip. He at least helped her with undoing his trousers and his underwear. She took over from there, easing herself closer between his splayed thighs.

His hips already twitched when she got a hand around his erection and gave it a few teasing pumps. There was something unbearably gentle in his eyes as he stared down at her, enough to give her pause.

Seteth reached down to touch her cheek, stroking down to press his thumb over her lips. She quickly caught the digit in her mouth, sucking on it.

A pained groan escaped his mouth and Byleth almost felt dizzy with arousal. She rubbed her thighs together to take the edge off before letting Seteth’s thumb go and taking his cock into her mouth.

Sometimes, she would be languid about it. She would tease the head until Seteth was practically begging her before taking him in as far as she could manage.

Byleth felt no such patience this time. She found a rhythm almost immediately, loud and obscene and everything she knew that he liked. She gripped his knee with one hand, the other slipping under his shirt to stroke over his abdomen.

Seteth was never particularly vocal in bed, so she relished every hitch in his breath, every groan or whimper that he couldn’t quite stifle. His thighs flexed under her hands as she bobbed her head over him, getting him as deep as she could.

“Byleth, I’m gonna—,” he hissed.

Instead of heeding his warning, she screwed her mouth down on him. His body tensed as he groaned, spilling into her mouth. Byleth hummed around him and swallowed, feeling him shudder above her.

Seteth sagged against his chair, still catching his breath. Byleth pulled off of him and sat back on her haunches.

He painted quite the picture, flushed, lips bruises, his spent cock lying on his thigh. If she had any skill with art, she would have drawn him immediately.

“Feel better?” she asked.

He glared at her with very little heat. “Yes, but still struggling to figure out the occasion for such a thing.”

Seteth held out a handkerchief with shaking fingers. She accepted it with a smile and wiped her mouth.

“Birthday gift?” she offered.

He sighed and covered his eyes with his arm. “Flimsy excuse, since my birthday was over a week ago, but I will allow it.”

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and such are appreciated, especially in stressful times like this.  
> [I am also attempting to make my general twitter my writer twitter as well. Give me a follow there!](https://twitter.com/BlooRalts)  
> Cheers!


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